The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-12-10
SATURDAY NIGHT AND SUN
DAY NIGHT.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.

II was an old fashioned room, in an
old-fashioned house. A high paneled
wainscot, to whose paint, originally pea
green, time had added identifying pal
lor, ran around the wall, which was pa
pered with pattern of palm trees and
psgodas in sober browns. In the CHM
ney-breast and here and there at unex-
pected corners and angles, appeared cup
board doors, each with little green knob
and wooden button TO fasten it. A high,
claw-footed secretary in cherry wood,
dark with age, stood opposite still taller
clock, on whose face appeared ship at
full sail, beneath an enormous moon
disc, three quarters revealed.
The sofa and arm chairs were of that
uncompromising pattern, just now enjoy
ing a renewed popularity, which suggests
erect spines and ultimate backbone. On
the narrow mantel.shelf, behind the
Franklin stove stood two bow pots" of
old Canton ware, from whose depths ex-
hailed the lavender and roses of by-gone
summer, blended with spice in those cum
ming proportions which only our grand
mothers knew.
On the low chair beside the dimity-cur-
tanned window, sat the only modern
thing in the room-a young girl. She was
pretty creature. symmetrical and slen-
der, with the transparent freshness OF
early youth about her; and beautiful, shy
yet mischievous, dark gray eyes, whose
long curtaining lashes of darkest brown
were in contrast to the warm tints OF her
yellow hair. These delightful eyes were
pesping out at the street from between
the quantity fringed curtains, and when
the tall clock struck the half hour after
five she jumped promptly up, and saying
aloud, " 1t is quite time to 60" snatched
at hat and shawl laid ready at hand on
the sofa, and FASTENED across the room
and through narrow entry to the
kitchen.
ct am going to grandmamma's for the
night, Lois" she said to an old serving
woman who sat beside the stove pairing
apples. "Pleass say am there, if any
one calls, and that grandmamma keeps
Saturday night, and is very particular
about not being disturbed"
"Shall l say you are going to be there
tomorrow night, too?'
"No, indeed, Lois. am coming back
here in the morning. You can say SO, if
any one inquiries. But please say also,
that we keep Sunday night, and papa is
just as particular about not being dis
turbed as grandmamma is"
With wicked little laugh she vanished
through the back door.
"I just wonder what that child is up
to?" soliloquized Lois. "But I can sus-
picion what it is well enough. 'Tisn't
for nothing that she goes flying off to the
old madame's every Saturday, and has
grown so dreadful pertikler about having
the Sabbath kept, and that young man
from ringing the door-bell every other
Saturday, and always being told she
can't be seen. 1 reckon she wouldn't
take such pains to get away if she didn't
kinder mistrust that she liked him. Girls
are Gurus creatures, and no mistake about
it."
While Lois was thus shrewdly meditat.
ing over her vsgaries, Nita Bigelow, hsv-
ing climbed stone wall and let herself
deftly under pair of bars, was rapidly
skirting the edge of the little copse which
ran down gradual meadow slope toward
the lower street. Altar of in the valley
the train from Boston announced it's ap-
proach by a prolonged whistle. Nita
paused moment to listen to it. A sud-
den tender look softened the mischievous
glee Of her face. Poor Ned" she sighed
to herself, her eyes fixed on the slow curl
OF smoke which marked the arrival of the
engine at the platform. Then, as if shak-
ing herself free from some thought she
threw back her pretty head and resumed
her downward run.
She had taken the same path more
than once of late, and always on Satur-
day night, just as the train was coming in.
Was it from herself that she was running
away, or from somebody else? That ques-
ton was not easy of answer. She fled
from an instinct of escape, the instinct to
avoid decision. That she could not al
ways fly, Nita knew. That she might not